The Rancher's Christmas Promise

Fortunately, it seemed like enough. She smiled back and patted the door once. “You’ll never collect on that.” Her voice was light.

“One thing I’ve learned in my life is to never say never.” He looked away from her ringless ring finger. “Where’d that dog go?”

Greer looked around, giving him a close-up view of the tender skin on the back of her neck. She had a trio of tiny freckles just below the loose strands of hair. Like someone had dashed a few specks of cinnamon across a smooth layer of cream.

He focused on Mrs. Gunderson, who was skirting the back of his trailer, calling the dog’s name. “Mignon, get out from under there, right now!”

Greer had joined in, crouching down to look under the vehicle.

He figured if he revved the engine, it might send the fat dog into cardiac arrest. He shut it off again and climbed out. “Where is he?”

“He’s lying down right inside the back tire.” Mrs. Gunderson looked like she was about to go down on her hands and knees. “Mignon, you naughty little thing. Come out here, right now. Oh, darn it, he seems to have found something he thinks is food.”

“Why don’t you get one of his usual treats?” Greer suggested.

“Good idea.” Mrs. Gunderson set off across the street once more.

If he’d hoped that her departure would spur the dog to follow, he was wrong. He knelt on one knee to look under the trailer. “Come ’ere, pooch.”

Mignon paid him no heed at all, except to move even farther beneath the trailer.

Greer crouched next to him. The bottom of her dress puddled around her. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

Ryder slid his hand out from beneath the soft, colorful fabric that covered it. “He wouldn’t like getting flattened by my trailer, either.”

“He’ll come out for his treats,” she assured him.

“Since he looks like he lives on treats, I hope so.” It would take the better part of an hour to get home and he’d probably already used up Mrs. Pyle’s allotment of patience. If the treat didn’t work, he’d have to drag the little bugger out.

“She’s actually gotten him to lose a couple pounds.”

“He’s still wider than he is tall. Reminds me of my aunt’s dog, Brutus.” He straightened and looked across the street, hoping to see Mrs. Gunderson heading back. Instead, she was just reaching the top of her porch stairs and he could feel the minutes ticking away.

* * *

Even though he didn’t say anything, Greer could feel the impatience coming off Ryder in waves. She stood, hoping that Mrs. Gunderson moved with more speed than she usually did. It was obvious that he was anxious to be on his way. “Your aunt has an overweight poodle?”

He lifted his hat just long enough to shove his fingers through his thick brown hair. “Overweight pug.” His blue gaze slid over her from beneath the hat brim as he pulled it low over his brow. “Adelaide spoils him rotten.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “A pug named Brutus?”

He shrugged. “She has a particular sense of irony.”

“I love your aunt’s name,” she said. “Adelaide.”

A dimple came and went in his lean cheek. “Coming from the woman who lives in that Victorian thing behind us, I’m not real surprised.”

She leaned against the side rail of the trailer. “Does she live in New Mexico?” Greer and her sisters didn’t know much about Ryder, but had learned that he’d lived in New Mexico before moving to Wyoming.

The brim of his hat dipped slightly. “She has a place near Taos.”

“The only place I’ve ever been in New Mexico was the Albuquerque airport during a layover.” She glanced toward her neighbor’s house. The front door was still open, but there was no sign of Mrs. Gunderson yet. “Did you grow up there?”

The dimple came again, staying a little longer this time. “In the Albuquerque airport?”

“Ha ha.”

His lips actually stretched into a smile. “Yeah. I spent most of my time in Taos.”

So she now knew he had an aunt. But she still didn’t know if he had parents. Siblings. Other ex-wives. Anybody else at all besides Layla. “What’s it like there? It’s pretty artsy, isn’t it?”

“More so than Braden.”

“Does your aunt get to visit you often?”

“She’s never been here. She doesn’t like to travel much anymore. If I want to see her, I have to go to her.” He thumbed up the brim of his hat and squinted at the sky.

“You’re anxious to go.”

“Yup.” He knelt down to look at the dog again. “My housekeeper’s gonna be peeved.” He gave a coaxing whistle. “Come ’ere, dog.”

“Your housekeeper’s Doreen Pyle?”

Still down on one knee, he looked up at Greer and something swooped inside her stomach. “Keeping close tabs on me?”

She ignored the strange sensation. “Braden is a small community. And I happen to know her grandson pretty well.”

“Dating him, are you?”

She couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped. “Since he’s not legally an adult, hardly. Haven’t even had a date in—” She broke off, appalled at herself, embarrassed by the speculative look he was giving her. She pointed, absurdly grateful for Mrs. Gunderson’s timely reappearance on her front porch. Her neighbor was holding something in her hand, waving it in the air as she came down the steps. “There’s the treat.”

And sure enough, before his mistress had even gotten to the street, Mignon was scrabbling out from beneath the trailer, practically rolling over his feet as he bolted.

Ryder straightened and gave her that faint smile again. The one that barely curved his well-shaped lips, but still managed to reveal his dimple. “Never underestimate the power of a good treat.”

Then he thumbed the brim of his hat in that way he had of doing. Sort of old-fashioned and, well, rancherly. He walked around his truck and climbed inside. A moment later, he’d started the engine and was driving away.

Mrs. Gunderson picked up Mignon, who was happily gnawing on his piece of doggy jerky, and stood next to Greer. “He’s a good-looking one, isn’t he?”

At least her elderly neighbor could explain away her breathlessness. She’d had to climb her porch stairs to retrieve the dog treats.

Greer, on the other hand, had no such excuse. “He’s surprising, anyway.” She gave Mignon’s head a scratch. “I’ve got to go call my dad before he drives out to haul my car that no longer needs hauling.”

Then she hurried inside, pretending not to hear Mrs. Gunderson’s knowing chuckle.

Chapter Three (#u6f77f426-278a-59ec-b803-b508f02132bf)

“Ryder Wilson towed your truck?”